


The Lovely and the Fair

by misura



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: F/M, M/M, what historical accuracy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>On some days, Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Aquitaine suspected that his wife had only taken up embroidery in order to annoy him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovely and the Fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/gifts).



On some days, Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Aquitaine suspected that his wife had only taken up embroidery in order to annoy him. Given that she was not only better-looking but also smarter than him though, he had not yet conceived of a way to have her own up to this, let alone put aside needle and thread in order to give him her full attention when he desired it.

"I made him a knight," he said.

"Yes, Eddie. I was there."

He could have handled being called 'darling', he thought. He had nothing against 'sweetheart', or 'dear one' or even, if she insisted, 'sugarplum'. "No, you were not." There were two syllables in his name. There was no conceivable need to shorten it. "Were you?"

The tip of her tongue was showing as she frowned at her work. She'd been there, then.

Edward sighed. "Look, Joan, you're my _wife_. You can't just ... well, obviously, you _can_ , but it's really not ... you know what I mean."

"Yes, Eddie."

Probably best to abandon this particular battle, Edward judged. No shame in retreating from the field when doing so was clearly the more prudent course of action. "He's a nice guy, you know. I like him."

"Yes, Eddie. So," Joan said, looking up for the first time since he'd started talking, "tell me, what's his favorite color?"

"His favorite color?" Any other man, Edward would have suspected of idiocy for asking such a question.

"Food, then," Joan said. "What's his horse called? What does he do when he's not riding around carrying a big stick the size of which is to assure him he's got nothing to be ashamed of in another department?"

There were men who fought by the belief that surrender was never an option. Edward was not one of them. "I don't know?"

Joan hmmed.

"It's a ... I am simply ... there's just something ... " Edward shook his head, frustrated. He'd given speeches - he was _good_ at giving speeches, at getting men to shout his name and pick up their swords and go kill the French for him.

"Puppy love at first sight, sweetheart. Very cute."

Perhaps it was just as well women were supposed to stay at home. "You don't mind, then." Joan would have been fearsome on a battlefield. In fact, Edward rather thought that Joan might have put an end to war altogether, given half a chance and an army at her back.

She pursed her lips. "That moping about you do is only remains cute for a day or two. You've been telling me about how you can't shag a man whom you've knighted for almost a week now."

"Well, I can't." Someone would find out. They always did, sooner or later, and then the rumors would start, and they would be ugly. Besides, Edward had no desire to pursue a man who might cede the field to him simply because he felt himself to be in Edward's debt. Poitiers had taught him that, if nothing else. "It's unethical. Unchivalrous."

"Quite," Joan said. "I noticed the way he wanted to lick your boots."

Edward sighed and sat down. He got a small smile for that, at least.

"Ask," Joan said. "Never any harm in that, and you may be surprised by the answer you receive. After all, _I_ told you 'yes', too, did I not?"

 

She had, Edward told himself. She had told him 'yes', and then the Pope had said 'yes' and he had felt like the luckiest man alive. He still did, if he was honest with himself, which he tried to be.

"Sir William." Joan was right, Edward thought; these were not the eyes of a man who would tell him 'yes' for any other reason than that because it was the answer he wanted to give. "Might you spare me a moment of your time?"

"Of course." Edward saw the hesitation, William trying to settle on a title. "Sir Edward."

The squire with the red hair looked appalled; the female blacksmith approving. The monk and Chaucer appeared to be absent - Edward thought perhaps Chaucer's absence was just as well. The man had a way with words, to be sure, but also somewhat of a lack of what might be described as 'common sense', for all that it seemed in such short supply so often.

"I'll be leaving for France next week," William said, unprompted, while they were walking to a place where a man might find a good drink and a prince might find a quiet corner where people would pretend not to spot him unless he wanted to order. "The season will be starting up again soon."

This season's ending would not have them meet again in London, Edward knew. It would be Paris this time. The French had been smug about it to the point where they'd almost started another war.

"You'll be hard pressed to make a better showing than last year's sensation," Edward said, with a smile to show it for a joke. "Sir Ulrich von Liechtenstein from Gelderland caused quite a stir."

"Sir William Thatcher from London will do even better."

Edward chuckled. William smiled.

"I'll drink to that."

 

"Men are such silly creatures, don't you agree?" Joan asked her companion. "I will bet you three hours of embroidery against one that they'll be lying under the table by the end of the night - and not to do anything but snore there, mind you."

"Done," her companion declared.

 

After the fifth drink, Edward decided to go a bit easier; getting drunk was not what he had come here for. "I don't believe I've ever met anyone quite like you." He contemplated that statement for a moment, then added: "Aside from my wife, that is, and she doesn't joust."

"Jocelyn doesn't either." William sighed. "She's got pretty eyes."

"So does my wife. 'The Fair Maid of Kent', they call her." Although not to her face, generally, or not more than once, anyway, unless they belonged to the Church. Joan was touchy about things like that. "Not that she is, mind you. Lovely, yes - fair, no."

William slumped. "Tell me about it," he said.

 

"Bless you."

"They're talking about us, aren't they?"

"Trust me," Joan said. "Seven or eight centuries from now, men will still be unable to get together without talking about women. They simply can't help themselves."

 

In the end, Edward decided to simply come out and ask. It had worked with Joan, although in her case, he'd known her for as long as he could remember. It was nice to think he'd asked her to marry him out of some subconscious awareness of the fact that she liked him enough to say 'yes'.

"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"

William blinked. "No, but ... wouldn't your wife mind?"

"Not if I ask you your favorite color first," Edward said. "And your favorite food. And the name of your horse. And some other things - I think she has got a list somewhere. She's been wanting to meet you for a while now. My fault, I'm afraid."

"Oh." William blinked. "Green, I suppose."

"What about your Jocelyn?" Edward had some strong suspicions on the subject of Jocelyn. He knew his wife rather well by now, if never well enough to win their skirmishes, it seemed. Still, it was decidedly out of character for her to point him in the direction of a man already attached to a woman, unless that woman had already been consulted on the matter as well.

Joan was a woman first, his cousin second and his wife third.

"She told me that if I ever fell in love with another woman, she would leave me."

"Well," Edward said. He suspected there might have been a more to it, but it seemed impolite to push for details. The message was clear enough, anyway.

"Yeah," William said.

 

"Three hours, did you say?"

"Double or nothing for their avoiding us tomorrow morning?"

"No bet."


End file.
